Simple Stories

Freedom of speech.

2007-02-12T19:46:00.000-05:00

The grey car in front of me. Maryland plates.
They read "4SHAHID".
For the martyrs, the suicide bombers, the terrorists.
If only it could only be on a licence plate...

Quit!

2007-02-12T19:41:00.000-05:00

On my way to work in a cold morning. A couple is walking toward the "Grill Fish" place on Florida Ave at the corner with North Capitol Street. The woman is visibly pregnant. Probably 8 or 9 th month. She is smoking.

Last flight

2007-02-12T19:21:00.000-05:00

I'm in Dulles. I got a pass to the gate to accompany my mother who is flying back to France.
We are sitting, silently, each thinking of all the time spent together. We don't see each other very often so each of her visit is precious.
I noticed behind us a couple also silent. The man is in a uniform. I can't tell if he is a pilot or any other member of the flight crew. The woman is dressed impeccably, her face is made up with care and she looks very dignified. Both seem to be in their 60s.
The man goes away after a while and she stays seated erect, looking straight ahead.
My mother and I are still waiting. I want to get her a better seat and go to the gate where the flight attendants are just arriving. A large group of laughing women, joking about the upcoming trip (and work!) that awaits them. One of them is asking something to the United employee at the gate. "Come on" she says, "It's his last flight!"
The employee looks up as the flight attendant explains: "He is retiring after this flight. Taking his wife to Paris for the occasion. You have to make this a bit special".
I realize immediately who are they talking about and after securing a nice seat for my mother, I come back to tell her the new story I got. She loves stories.

The pilot is back now. He came back with drinks ("diet Pepsi" for both) and he is giving his wife a small glass before sitting down next to her. They drink slowly and then walk up to the gate and I see them taking a picture in front of the panel that says
"5:45 PM" "Flight 914" "Paris".
Soon afterward he is gone to the plane and his last trip in the pilot's seat.
His wife boards a bit later with the first and business classes.

English spelling is weird

2007-02-12T19:15:00.000-05:00

On a window of a dirty building near Mt Pleasant street. A small note taped to the glass.
It says "Please don't knock on may window".
The spelling makes sense in Spanish...

Personal

2007-02-12T19:10:00.000-05:00

Thanks for all the regulars who checked the blog while I was away from it.
It will be a bit irregular at first but I'm back.
I've written up some of the stories I could not write earlier.

Garbage truck

2006-12-19T22:55:00.000-05:00

On my way to work on route 193. There is work going on and the road has been reduced to one lane.
As I near an intersection a garbage truck makes a right turn on to the road. It is too big to negotiate the turn gracefully and it strickes one of the orange cones that closed the other lanes. The truck stops, backs up and keeps going.
I honk. Only to let the driver know that he could have just waited for me to pass before attempting the turn in a hurry, a maneuver which was so clearly a mistake.
The driver honks back, a clear signal to get lost. I am following it for another 20 meters when I notice that the orange cone is actually stuck underneath the truck and is being dragged down the road.
The truck is flagged down by the workers on the side of the road and forced to stop. Someone crawls underneath and grabs the cone. We are all watching.

Dangerous kids

2006-12-02T12:13:00.000-05:00

On my way from work yesterday. The woman in the school yard that was surrounded by young kids. Probably 10 of them, about 6 or 7 years old. They were jumping on her from all sides. She is bent forward trying to get one of the kid off her back. I can see her laughing from the pleasure of the game.

French cheese and American mice.

2006-11-21T22:04:00.000-05:00

Guest in the garbage. An uninvited furry guest that I wanted to kill but could not. I just stayed there, watching in disgust as it jumped on the floor of the kitchen and hurried behind the dishwasher. In two seconds, it was gone.
The traps I bought are for "catch and release" so I don't have to kill them.
"Mice are not an endangered species" my mother remarks calmly when I show her the traps. She gave me French cheese for the bait. The cheese was still there this morning. I'll try peanut butter if the traps are still empty tomorrow. After all, these are American mice...

Gentrification

2006-11-09T22:48:00.000-05:00

It's gone. The sign that greeted me every day on my way to work.
Painted over to please the new neighboors. The end is near.

Swimming Pool (IV)

2006-11-06T23:55:00.000-05:00

At the pool tonight after a relatively short swimming session. I was getting dressed when the aquaerobics class came back in the locker room. About 10 women between 50 and 80 years old, talking of anything but Michelangelo.
I hear a compliment on a swim suit and the answer comes "Well, thank you. I found out since I bought it that it is a mastectomy swimsuit, so I feel like I am taking it away from someone who really needs it".
I can't help but taking a peep at the woman who just spoke these words. She is among the youngest of the group. Maybe around 50. She is holding as a demo, a wet swimming suit, showing the part of the breast-cup that is designed for women who have had mastectomies. I can see something that look like a double slit, extra clothes. It is not quite clear how it is supposed to work and how it looks on a woman who still has her two breasts large and hanging.
I hear another woman saying "Be happy you don't have to wear these for that reason".
I walk out of the door to enjoy the cold but refreshing air that greets me.

Japan (III) -- Women only

2006-10-19T19:31:00.000-04:00

This is it. I’m on my way to the airport, My week in Japan is over. I am looking forward to sleeping into my own bed “tonight” (after a 20 hours travel).
My suitcase is loaded with Japanese "stuff" ranging from food to small souvenirs. The train from Machida to Shinjuku is crowded with commuters. I see one express train come and the rush to get in it that follows. It is impossible to fathom. I see a blond woman filming the scene. There is no way I am getting on a train as crowded as this and I use an old Parisian trick: going to the end of a train to avoid all the people who cram into the middle cars to be nearest to their exit. As I arrive at the end of the track, the announced train is a semi-express, another safe bet to avoid crowding. Sure enough when the train arrives, there is enough room and I board. It is only after two or three stops that I realize that something is strange: I am surrounded by women. There is no one man in sight. Not a single one. I immediately start formulating hypothesis on why it should be so. My first guess is that most of the women in this train have come to the same conclusion as I did: it’s better to board a semi-express than an express, losing a bit of time in the process but wining space and peace of mind. Knowing the sexism of the Japanese society, I also suspect that this way, the woman are trying to avoid being “pinched” in the anonymity of a crowded train. I’ve experienced this and know first hand how disturbing this can be.
I’m there formulating all these hypothesis when I notice a large green sign on one of the window of the train car. The sign says “Woman Only” and explain that between the hour of 7:30 to 9:30 in the morning the first (or last) car of each train en-route to downtown Tokyo is reserved for women. This is true for express and semi-express trains.
A woman only car! This is such a brilliant idea. No problem of rush hour “encounters”, no hassle. If only they could implement this in Paris! So there is some good in some imposed rules after all. The imposed rest at the swimming pool bothered me but it is coming from the same philosophy of the society that triggers this rule about women-only cars that I find so appealing.

Japan (II) -- Swimming Pool (III)

2006-10-15T18:18:00.000-04:00

I decided to go for a swim. Nothing unusual except that I am in Japan and my knowledge of the language is rather limited. What I know is that somewhere near the “Sagamiono” stop station (one stop away from where I am staying) there is a public swimming pool. I got the information from a Japanese colleague who forwarded me a website address in Japanese. All I can understand on that website is the picture of a nice pool. I go down to ask the front desk. I am not staying in a hotel but in a “weekly appartment building”. They do not catter to tourists (which is a good thing as there are hardly any tourist here in Machida) but to Japanese travelers, renting studio appartment at a cheaper rate than an hotel. The front desk woman does not speak a word of English, nor French.
I try the few words I know in Japanese. She tells me to wait. About 10 minutes later, she is back with a printout from the web, showing a private health club that seems to be nearby. The price is outrageous. Something like $30 for an entrance pass valid twice. I decide to go exploring the Sagamiono station.

Once there, my first stop is a private health club that I saw marked on the orientation map at the train station. About 10 minutes of exploring walk, I end up in a lounge with soothing music and massage chairs. Everything around me looks like in the US. The big “Whey Protein” containers for sales with pictures of diformed people looking proud of themselves, the TV above the counters, the TVs above the treadmills that I can see in a corner of the next room. After a very short discussion “No pool. Members only”, I am sent to the other side of the train station, the other side of the tracks to look for another private club “Live” where, I am told, I can find a pool.
I get there to find that “Yes pool. but sorry: members only”. Fortunately, not only a young staff member speaks English perfectly, he is eager to practice and after sending his colleague to print out the directions to the public pool, he keeps asking me if there is anything else I want to know. I ask him about Japan, how he came to speak English so perfectly (a very rare occurance here) and after bowing and enough “arigato goisamasoo-ing” (about 5 on my count), I’m on my way to the bus station where, armed with the printout of the directions, it is easy to board the correct public bus for the pool.
We pass an American base on the way. I see houses with a lot of green around, signs to keep out, and a large wire fence around.

The pool is all I expected a Japanese pool to be: clean, clean and clean. The entrance fee is about 3$ but the charge is only valid for 2 hours. Any additional time has to be paid for. I don’t plan on staying that long. Just wanted to shake off the long flight in and relax in prevision of an heavy week of work.

There are lockers available (1$) and private stools to change (never seen in the US) and then I am in water. The deepest end is about 5 foot deep and lap swimming is done by changing lane on the back and forth. There is one line to swim one way and another line to swim back. Efficient way to minimize the number of lanes reserved for lap swimming. I am the only westerner in a pool.Most of the people came in with kids (it is Sunday after all) and there is a large number of older people (there is what looks like a communal restaurant for old people at the entrance of the pool). So I swim back and forth, bowing in the water with a “dozo” to allow someone to pass me (I am not a fast, nor a good swimmer). I am starting to relax fully when I hear a witsle. I ignore it thinking it is directed to one of the kids playing in the nearby lane but as I am readying to swim back, a woman taps on my shoulder. She is about 60 with a very kind face and a soft smile. “Rest now” she says. I look at her, uncertain of what she means. “Rest now. No swim”. I look around. Everybody is getting out of the pool. It is rest time for everybody. Every hour, from 10-off to the full hour, everyone and the pool take a 10 mn break. It does not matter that one just arrives and does not need to rest. It’s mandatory rest time. I look at people standing around the pool and some who are walking toward a small room on the side. Japan is a smoking country. Smoke is everywhere so my first thought is that this is the smoking room but then it just does not make sense. Even in Japan, people just don’t swim and smoke. So I have a closer look and realize that it’s a sauna. Nice dry heat. People sitting in silence, enjoying this imposed rest time.
I slowly gets the heat enters my body, completely relaxed now. A nice break indeed.
Still I cannot get over the irritation to have it imposed on me by some rules. I am all for taking breaks when swimming, I just don’t see why it should be imposed by the pool rules and be the same for everyone.
I laught at the thought of such rule in the US or in France and again realize how lucky I am to live there rather than here.

Japan (I) -- The first time

2006-10-14T06:19:00.000-04:00

This was my first time. 6:35 AM in the morning. I was awake because of the jetlag, standing in this small hotel room in my PJs and it happened. The hotel moved. As if it were a paper construction. The potential strength of that earthquake was palpable. Like the touch of a giant who has decided not to hurt you but whose "caress" still sends you across the room.
My first reflex is to grab my pants and get dressed. I don't want to stay in my PJs. Don't want to linger in bed. I want to be entirely dressed in case it happens again. Then I look for my passport and green card and decide to carry them at all time. I won't let them in my hotel room as I usually do. I can't risk it.

I check the net and the monitoring of earthquakes and sure enough, I find it: a 5.3 magnitude quake off the coast of Japan. Nothing really but enough to make me think that I don't want to die here, that I want to be back home as quickly as possible, surrounded by friends and familiar faces. I've checked. There has been no earthquake recorded in Washington DC for the past 100 years.

San Francisco (III) -- No to Napa

2006-10-07T23:05:00.000-04:00

Just don't go. It's a waste of time and waste of money.
We decided to take a day off from the conference and bike Napa (well part of Napa at least).
Our first stop is "Sterling" which greets us with a large parking lot filled with SUVs and limos. That's enough to make me suspicious but the worst is the $20 fee to take a cable car to access the wine tasting area. $20 to "taste" wine? When did this happen? This is like paying a contractor for an estimate. You should not. Estimates are part of their cost for doing business. Tasting wine is the same thing. This should be part of the cost of doing business. If the wine is good, we buy a bottle and everyone is happy. We decide to pass on the $20 wine tasting experience.
The place next door ("Twomey") is much more low key (still $5 for a tasting but the wine is excellent) but the first impression is the one that stays for the whole day. It is a rip off. Wine places are selling "chocolate Riesling", "wine coasters", napkins. Each place looks more like a supermarket than a winery. I still buy a couple of bottles. One is for a friend that was pissed at me (and my entire fault). I ask the guy at the counter a wine to restore a damaged friendship. No wine is too good. I hope this would do the trick. The other bottle is for the concierge at the hotel who got us the rental car. We could not find one and he saved our Saturday. Later, when I give him the bottle he laughed at my description of the places and tells me that next time he'll give me the list of places that I should visit. That there are still nice, low key places in Napa. They're just a bit more hidden than the big names on the tourist circuit. There will be no next time. Napa once is one too many...

San Francisco (II) -- Don't shoot the pianist

2006-10-06T22:50:00.000-04:00

The hotel I am staying in is a posh hotel right off Chinatown, at the top of a steep hill.
There is a piano in the lobby and at certain times during the day, the piano is playing. By itself. The keys are going up and down as if an invisible player was sitting there. Nobody to shoot at.
This proves irresistible for a kid about 4 year old who has jumped on the seat in front of the piano and is trying to follow along the song and the keys going up and down. He is really "following along" although the sound produced does not improve the music that much. His mother is sitting nearby, letting him enjoy a big, new toy.
This is when a woman employed by the hotel comes to the kid. It is very clear that she would like nothing better than grab him and put him somewhere as far as possible from the piano, but she can't and she is trying to bring him to stop in a falsely smooth voice. The voice, most adults use when they speak to children, as if speaking to an inferior intellect. Slowly, smoothly and higher pitched voice that they would to adults.
"Do you want some milk?" I hear her say. "Maybe some cookies?" she adds as it is clear that the milk won't do the trick. The child is unflappable. He just loves that piano and no milk and cookies are going to make him leave it. The voice gets a bit higher in pitch. "Look! I have some toys over there!" The kid is still pounding on the keyboard. The woman turns to the mother and with a very low and severe voice tells her that kids are not allowed near the instrument. I'm not sure if the milk, cookies and toys are still part of the deal.

San Francisco (I) -- Swimming Pool (II)

2006-10-03T21:34:00.000-04:00

I am in San Francisco for a meeting. I arrive early to set everything up and discover that the room is occupied until 5 PM so I decide to go for a swim in the local pool. Not a long walk from here, just a lots of hills. This is San Francisco after all.
I have my first surprise arriving there: it's free. Apparently it's free on Tuesdays. Or maybe it's free only today. In any case, I'm in without having paid a dime and the pool is OK, if not incredibly cold. The water is a least 5 degrees colder than my local pool. I can swim for 20 minutes and still feel the water fresh on my body. As I am nearing my usual kilometer swim, I am seized by crippling cramps. I decide to stop and head back in. The place is quite dirty and not really welcoming so I get dressed to go back to my hotel for a hot shower. A woman enters the dressing room. She was the one sharing the lane with me. She smiles and asks me how I am and I realize she saw me struggling out of the pool with my cramps. I explains that my right calf was killing me. She listens and then with a smile tells me "too bad I didn't know it was cramps. The remedy for cramps is very simple." She points to somewhere between her mouth and her nose and she continues "all you have to do is push somewhere there". "You have to find the correct point though. But it's somewhere here". She is pushing here and there, tracking an invisible "mustache" with her finger while explaining the principle of this point and its importance in acupuncture.
I love California.

Swimming Pool (I)

2006-09-26T14:05:00.000-04:00

I've resumed swimming a couple of time per weeks. I used to swim a lot and then stopped. I realized recently that I missed it and with a bit of a nudge from a friend, has gone back to it. So it's about 7:30 AM and I am arriving at the pool near where I work. The morning is already beautiful and I am looking forward to the relaxation of the water. A family passes me by as I am walking toward the entrance. There is what I assume to be the mother and her two sons. All of them on bikes, all of them pedaling with enthusiasm. I can't help but feeling the joy of the scene. The health, the good habits instilled so young, the relaxed way to bring the kids to school. As I am reflecting on how lucky these youngsters are to have a mother who understand these things, I hear her scream. She is yelling at the youngster who didn't stop at the stop sign in front of the parking lot. She screams at him to "STOP RIGHT NOW" and he, as a 8 years old would do, is pushing her to the brink by not stopping "right now" but stop and then go some more, and then stop and go some more. She is hysterical now and gets to him quickly, swinging at him and knocking him out of his bike. I've seen enough. I turn to enter the pool

Junk them!

2006-09-19T21:40:00.000-04:00

In front of a Funeral House on Florida avenue, a sign asks:
1-800-GOT JUNK?

Good deed and bad karma

2006-09-18T22:18:00.000-04:00

In Baltimore for a meeting, which has meant long drives and long hours for the past 4 days. Today, I am coming home relatively early and I'm happy to have "escaped". At the last light before the beginning of the highway I see a man coming to my car with a small cardboard that reads "Homeless. Please help". I honk , open my wallet and my window to give him money. The light has just turned green and the car behind is getting nervous honking to get me moving faster. I start and get on the highway, feeling good to have helped him even if only with a dollar.

Only back in DC that I realized that I had given him a $10 bill instead of the intended $1.
Now I am annoyed at myself to not having looked more carefully. No more of feel good and just thoughts about checking more carefully next time.
Doing and feeling good on the cheap.

Motorcycle disappointment

2006-09-18T22:01:00.000-04:00

Almost every day I would see it on my drive to work. A pale green motorcycle on the sidewalk at the intersection of Florida and W Street. It's a "vespa", an authentic Italian motorcycle, like the one in "Roman Holidays". I grew used to seeing it, day after day. Used to imagine the type of person that would have a pale green motorcycle and park it all the time at the same exact spot. Man or woman? Young or not so young? Used to look for it every time I'd cross the intersection.
And then it happened. One morning last week, I saw him. A man whose face I forgot, about 30 years old. Maybe older. He was just about to leave, on the pale green Vespa. I slowed down to get a better view but he went the other way, up Florida as I kept going on W street. So now I know and the "vespa" has already lost its appeal. I should have closed my eyes.

Car dialogues

2006-09-08T00:12:00.000-04:00

On the Beltway, completely trapped in traffic. The guy in the car next to mine started a conversation. A simple hello, transformed into a discussion with our two cars crawling in traffic.
He notices my accent. "French" I tell him and at the next "stop" of our cars, he shows me a CD. "They're French too!" he is yelling at the top of his lungs. "I had never met a real French but they're French". I cannot read the title or the artists name on the CD but I can see the image cover of scantly clad women with large breasts. I change lanes to lose him.

On Wisconsin Ave, at around 9 PM. The car behind me has no light on. It is practically invisible. I slow down to let him pass me and put myself behind him, trying to get his attention by turning my lights on and off but to no avail. It's a convertible and the outside light is enough to allow the driver to see the dashboard and the road. A unlit car in the night is a big danger to all the drivers around so I accelerate to his level and shout through the window. "YOUR LIGHTS!".
Finally success. The lights appear and I hear a loud "Thank you!" Before I have the time to shout back a "You're welcome", the car accelerates and it is gone in a minute..

Silent recess

2006-08-28T23:32:00.000-04:00

On my way to Chinatown this morning, I pass a small kindergarten playground. There are a couple of swings in a large patch of grass but all the kids are ignoring them, looking at the sidewalk though the metal fence that encloses the garden. There is a giant hole in the sidewalk and a crew of two is repairing some water pipes. The kids are clearly fascinated by the spectacle and all of them are completely still, silent as far as I can tell. Ten kids, all about 3 or 4 years old, boys and girl, looking at the work these men are doing. It must look like a giant playground, complete with mud and white pipes. A playground for adults. Irresistible for kids at any age.

Young capitalists

2006-08-26T19:31:00.000-04:00

On a bike ride this weekend, I am planing on biking up to the lake at the end of Rock Creek Park. I've made my way to Meadowbrook Stable, readying myself for the upcoming 15 miles. It is quite hot and humid and there are only few people out. A small kid is standing on a picnic table, with a large sign advertising lemonade. She is very cute, smiling and looking at people passing by. Hard to resist indeed. I stop to buy a 25 cents glass of lemonade. Her mom presides over the transaction. I give her 30 cents, explaining that this includes the tip. The child is confused but the mother smiles and thanks me. She blames the weather for the lack of foot traffic. Clearly, not many people are out in the sun today. In any case, it looks that she will soon run out of supply. The business will probably close early.

The ride ended up with a flat tire after mile 35. I did the last 5 miles by bus. The next morning I make my way to the bike shop to get the tire fixed. The road is empty but two kids are there selling lemonade and cookies, sitting in front of their house. "How's business?" I ask, thinking of yesterday's girl that had set up shop on the bike path, clearly looking for costumers. The two boys seem happy "We had 3 people coming already!" The fact that this street is only used by locals living within one block is of no concern to them. Their lemonade is more expensive (a whooping 50 cents a glass) but nice and cold.
Already two completely different business models.

I'm saving your life, bitch!

2006-08-15T23:15:00.000-04:00

On my way back from work. It is getting dark, a mixture of black and red that makes things and people almost invisible.
I'm driving, hungry and eager to be home. I saw some movement in the middle of the intersection in front. The light is green and there are no car.
I flashed my lights to high beams to see better and I can now see a woman pushing her bike. She is crossing, dressed in dark color, probably en-route to the nearby club.
Another flash to warn her that she is totally invisible to traffic but that flash is misunderstood and she raises her hand to give me the finger. I gave it back to her resisting the urge to think that I should have zoomed by her and her bike.

Superman does not want to die

2006-08-14T22:56:00.000-04:00

I saw him jogging in the street in the middle of the morning traffic. He was approaching the "ID-crisis" intersection where all the streets change their names: U Street becomes Florida Ave and Georgia Ave becomes 7th Street. An oddity with a poetic charm.
He seemed confused but his path was clearly aware of the cars zooming by. He made his way across the intersection avoiding collisions after collisions. As the light changed, and on the point of fighting traffic coming in a different direction, I saw him jumping on the sidewalk, smiling widely in celebration of his victory. He had won the DC equivalent of the Pampluna's running with the bulls. His torn and dirty T-shirt underlines the futility of his uncelebrated battle.

Smoke up in the air

2006-07-26T21:50:00.000-04:00

This was pure happiness. A worker his feet dangling in the air, about 50 meters above ground, taking a smoke pause from his work on a building.
I noticed him at the corner of 14th and W. Waiting for the light to change on my way to work. I could not see his face, only that he was smoking, sitting at the edge of the upcoming luxury condominiums that will be ready soon.
Two stories below him, one worker is gulping some food.

Honk if you love Jesus

2006-07-19T23:26:00.000-04:00

There are mayoral elections coming up in DC and signs are popping up all over. It is becoming routine on my way to work to see people picketing with large green or red signs. "Fenty" or "Cropp". Standing in the street already hot and sticky even at 8 AM. I usually honk for support for all of them. I am not yet a citizen so I can't vote but still I honk. Just to let the people know that I saw their signs. Breaking the silence of indifference, giving them a little joy by letting them think that their standing in the heat has had an impact.
Tonight coming back from work (and after the small problem on the road), I pass one man standing by himself on the sidewalk of Florida Ave. He is holding a hand-written sign and it takes me longer to decipher it. It is written "Pray for peace in Jerusalem" on one side and "Honk if you love Yeshua (Jesus)" on the other. I have to fight the desire to honk. I drive away looking at the rear view mirror and the man standing there in silence.

There is nothing

2006-07-19T22:35:00.000-04:00

On my way back from work. For a chance I am driving down Rhode Island Ave. On the downhill right after the Carmelite place. I'm not sure how it happened. All I know is that I was stopped a the light and then colliding with the car in front of me. A white car with licence plates in Maryland. We both stopped and I see a woman getting out of her car. She looks really annoyed (and I can't blame her, I just collided with her!). I put my distress signals and walk to her, looking at her car. There is no track of the shock. It was quite a mild shock (I was stopped after all) so I am not surprised but still not quite sure of what she is going to do.
She looks at me and I say "There is nothing on your car. My licence plate is bent but nothing on your side". She inspects her car. Some marks here and there but I'm not sure these are from the shock. Probably there before as she does not point to them. She smiles. "I was so worried" she said. I smile back. "I'm not sure how it happened and I was worried too". She walks back to her car and wishes me a nice evening. I go back to my car and we both leave.
An incident handled with civility in the country of lawsuits. How refreshing...

Death in the morning

2006-07-12T18:01:00.000-04:00

I could not see what it was until it was too late. I saw what seems a small brown bag being bounced around under the car. I realize now that it was trying to escape. The driver probably never saw it. A grey BMW with Maryland plates, convertible with the top down and the man enjoying the morning sun.
Below his car, I saw the brown bag being tossed up and down until it got trapped it under the rear tire. The bag turned red and I saw the feathers being smashed. Instinctively, even though I was also driving, I closed my eyes. Too late. The image of the red splash on the pavement stayed with me all day.

Riding a dog

2006-07-02T19:50:00.000-04:00

Today I went hiking again on the Billy Goat trail. I like it more and more for the convenience it affords: close to DC and safe enough to be done alone (although some incident may disprove this..). As I approach the trail I see a large dog and a toddler holding a leash and walking by its side. What make the scene remarkable is that the dog is larger than the child. This kid could easily ride that dog and she may be thinking of it as her steps are still uncertain and not completely stable. The dog is walking at the kid's pace, clearly knowing that any faster would be impossible for that child to follow. I can't decide who is the more admirable sight. The dog or the child.

Dog's heaven

2006-07-01T19:38:00.000-04:00

I'm on a long walk exploring some of DC neighborhoods. It is a hot day and I've been walking for about 2 hours, making my way back home slowly. Sheridan Circle on Massachusetts Ave has a large statue at its center and it is flanked by 2 water fountains. A woman is standing by the fountain while her dog is literally taking a shower. His foot are in the water and he is going from one faucet to the other, clearly enjoying the reprieve from the heat. The woman is motionless. She seems to be willing to wait as long as her dog wants to stay and she is enduring the sun while her dog is relaxing at the pool. It is funny to see though, a dog so completely content without being jumpy and excited. In the 10 minutes it takes me to walk around the square, I see that the odd couple has left the first fountain and the dog is now having fun in the other one. Boundless enthusiasm of an animal.

Snack in a car

2006-06-29T23:28:00.000-04:00

On my way back from work. At the corner of Florida and U Street, almost right in front of the 9:30 pub and the new luxury condominiums that just got built there..
A big SUV in front of me. I can see the faces of the people inside and a guy rummaging through a paper bag from a fast food place. He holds a soggy pizza slice in front of him and I see him tilt his head backward to shovel the slice in his mouth. He does not eat it all at once and throw the rest out of the window.

Faking it

2006-06-21T22:58:00.000-04:00

Billy Goat trail on a sunny Saturday morning. I'm with a friend, enjoying the small hike so close to the city. As we turn on the path, there is a couple, resting, in the middle of the trail. The woman is lying with her back straight on the ground, her legs popped up on a rock and her head resting on her backpack. It looks awkward but I've learned that people hiking here have all their quirky habits so I don't say anything. As we get closer and we are almost passing them, the man, holding a cell phone, calls after us: "Would you please see if the rescue team is coming?"
Immediately feeling bad not to have noticed the agony on the woman's face, we ask if there is anything we can do beside direct the incoming rescue team to the site. "No" says the man, "just tell them to hurry". We don't ask what's the problem, we just both nod and hurry down the trail.
It's 11:10 AM.
Less than 10 minutes later, we're at the "Emergency exit #2", a short cut to the tow path. The trail goes on after that but that's where we expect the rescue team to show up. We wait for a couple of minutes. Nobody is coming.
A tall guy almost running is catching up to us. He is coming from the same direction as us, so he had to pass the couple on his way here. He does not look at us, going super fast on the trail walking with two poles for stability and "tracing" the path. The guy is clearly in a hurry. We scramble out of his way (there is no doubt in my mind that he will just walk through us otherwise) and he disappears in front. As we decide to keep walking, we meet him about 50 meters away from where we saw him first. He is talking to a woman who was walking in the opposite direction, giving her advice on how to exit the path at the "Emergency Exit #2" as she seems exhausted and already tired. This is when I notice his carrying a small "Walkie-talkie" on his belt. I ask "Are you from a rescue team?". He answers in a non-denial way. It seems that he is involved with rescues but not officially. I told him about the couple and the woman injured. "You must have passed them" I say, "as you were coming from that trail when we saw you first". "I saw that couple you're talking about" he smiles, "but they were just blocking the trail. The woman has nothing". My friend and I look at him incredulously. "No, she is really injured. She could not move when we saw her. They are not blocking the trail. They're stuck there...". The smile on the guy's' face vanishes and he turns around quickly. "I thought she was faking it" is what I remember hearing before seeing him disappearing fast on his way back to the woman. We keep going meeting the rescue team lost on the path. They've hiked the long way instead of coming in from the Emergency Exit number #2, they've hiked all the way in. No wonder they could not get there on time. A 10 mn stroll to the woman was transformed in a 35 mn hike through the woods.
We both make a mental note to never get injured on the trail...

Image of a sunny day

2006-06-15T21:54:00.000-04:00

I am on my way back from the Immigration office where I went to get my fingerprints taken. Soon, very soon, I'll be an American. The day is sunny and hot. I see a woman about 65 or 70 watering her plants in front of her house. She is wearing a very formal dress, grey with black laces. A dress that would not seem inappropriate at the opera house. She is holding the water hose with all the dignity that her dress confers. Upright and dignified in the molding heat that came onto Washington. The man working in shorts and T-shirt at the other end of the garden seems strangely out of place.

Pure fun

2006-05-29T19:43:00.000-04:00

Columbia road next to "La casa del pueblo". About 6:30 PM. I'm walking coming back from a friend's house. An apartment building with a large garden iron door. A little girl is hanging on the door. She is going back and forth as her older sister (her mother?) pushes and pulls to open and close the door.
The little girl is shrieking with pleasure. Back and forth on a door. Pure and simple fun.

Silhouette

2006-05-18T23:08:00.000-04:00

On my way to National airport to pick up a friend. It is about 8:30 PM and it's not completely dark yet. Just right before the exit to the airport, I catch a glimpse of a man fishing in what seems like a pond, on the other side of the road from the Potomac. He is in the water to his waist, a silhouette with a hat and a long pole. He looks lost, far away from civilization, within a stone's throw of the shore.

Parallel parking

2006-05-14T19:29:00.000-04:00

Friday, a beautiful day in DC and I am out for a short walk before going back to work. On Columbia Road I notice a van trying to park between a car and a motorcycle. From the angle of the car, I know that the driver is having troubles.
As I walk past it I can't help but looking to the driver. She too turns her head and looks at me with a pleading air. I stop and start to direct her: "You can go back some more, some more, some more. STOP. Now go forward"' I say going back to the front to check the distance to the motorcycle.
After a couple of back and forth, she is parked but about 2 meters away from the sidewalk. I shake my head. "You should try again" I suggest. I can see that she is afraid of the traffic zooming past her while she is parking. She is hesitating and this trial is also for naught.
I ask her "Do you want me to park the car for you?". She shakes her head and asks me if I would not mind helping her for the third time. I don't mind. I tell her that learning to drive in Paris is a marvellous recipe to learn to parallel park anywhere.
I give her all the tricks and start shouting "back, back, turn, turn, turn, back again, turn the other way, the other way, now forward, forward...".
She is parked in less than 5 mn, 10 cm away from the sidewalk, so happy of her prowess. I am happy too. I think she got it completely now. Another 2 or 3 times like this and she'll park like a Parisian in the streets of DC.

Dada fan

2006-05-06T20:01:00.000-04:00

The Dada exhibit currently at the National Gallery. The last room has a large screen that shows a rotating wheel painted in back and white. The effect is mesmerizing, spirals going away from us and small circles disappearing.
A man is walking by with an infant in his arms. She must be 9 or 10 month old. A baby with a cut dress and rosy cheeks.
Her eyes are drawn to the screen. She stops moving and watches. After 10 seconds, the father moves to the next display. The baby twists her head completely, and turns to keep watching the wheels and the geometrical patterns that are shown on the screen. Her dad does not notice and I can see them both, him looking straight ahead at a picture and the baby in his arms, her head twisted and tilted to watch some more of that fantastic spectacle.

Band-Aid

2006-04-26T18:15:00.000-04:00

The tiny hand of a child pokes through the window of the car, in front, on my left. I'm driving up 15th Street. The window on that station-wagon is opened just a bit at the top and I see the small fist coming out, shaking. A band-aid is still glued to the thumb. Motions of the other fingers. Go away! Go away! Finally the victory. The band-aid falls and the hand gets back in the car. I noticed that the small orange plastic band didn't fell on to the ground. I accelerate to have a better look at the car. As I get at the same level as the rear-window, I can see the band-aid stuck on the black plastic that marks the start of the window. Flapping in the wind. I wonder if the kid has seen it.

I found them

2006-04-25T20:41:00.000-04:00

I finally found the waterfalls I had been looking for.
There are small but untamed and easy to find once one realizes that they are off "Coleville road". and not off "Georgia Ave". These falls had become almost something of a quest. The promise of a hidden treasure. A beauty nearby but out of my reach. They were here all that time. I just had to learn where to look.
The water is still brown from the rain when we reach them. They are graffiti on the rocks nearby. Still it's beautiful.

Hidden deal

2006-04-17T20:17:00.000-04:00

7PM. In front of the Union Station post office. This is the last day before taxes are due and people have all come down here, knowing it will still be opened.
I'm making my way in and overhear a conversation between two homeless people. The woman is sitting, begging near the entrance, hoping to cash in on the sheer number of people streaming in and out of the place. There is a man standing in front of her, pointing his finger to her face. I hear her saying "Do not touch me or I call the police. I say NO" and his plea "but I like you. Honest to god. I like you". Her voice becomes more strident. She is clearly upset and is making clear she wants nothing to do with him. I enter the post office. It is the mad house with a line of about 50 people. I put my letters in one of the boxes and turn around to exit. I've been inside less than one minute. The woman has disappeared from her spot. The man is sitting there now and he is carefully counting some dollar bills that he is clutching. I can't imagine what happened. Maybe she sold her spot, maybe she got scared, maybe, maybe. I regret to have missed that deal.

Fear

2006-04-10T21:06:00.000-04:00

A yellow jacket. A red bike. The kid is standing in front of an adult (his dad? his brother?) examining a small red bike. I can't hear them (I am in my car, driving to work. late) but the adult turns his head suddenly and I can see the kid recoiling with fear. All his body moved back as if expecting a punch that he is used to receive. The man looks at the boy and slowly turns back to the bike. The kid's body is still a bit tilted, still anticipating the punch, not yet back to his natural posture.

How many dogs in a car?

2006-03-29T21:53:00.000-05:00

On my way to meet a friend. I am walking up the street. A car is parked about 20 meters in front. I notice a woman walking a dog to one of the houses. She is pulling a long leash as the dog reluctantly climbs the stairs to the front door. As I come nearer, I hear a cacophony of barking. The sound is coming from the car. I do a doubletake on the car: It is filled with dogs. Literally filled. About 10 dogs in a small Rav 4 car. There are dogs everywhere. Big dogs in the back, small dogs poking their heads between the seats. A dog putting its paw on the steering wheel. There are so many dogs that I am not sure how the woman can drive or even sit. I catch the look of another passerby, a neighbor who is walking toward me and also caught sight of the dogs. She has the amused air of someone who has just came back from the circus.

The stick

2006-03-28T21:15:00.000-05:00

I am with a friend walking on Mount Pleasant Street, slowly making our way to Adams Morgan. It's dark already.
In front of us a woman has stopped to grab something over the small fence of a house's garden. We see her pulling out a large branch and walking away. We both look at each other puzzled. Just a short comment on fireplaces as we keep walking. The woman is now walking with the large branch in her hand about 10 meters in front of us. We cross the "Rat Park" (the rat-infested park at the corner of 16th Street, Mount Pleasant and Columbia Road). We are so close that we can hear her say "I got a stick" to someone on her cell-phone, and she hangs up. My friend teases me "This can't be on your blog if you don't know why she is so excited about that stick!". No matter, I am just too curious. I call after her "Madam, Madam". When she turns around, I realize that she is no more than 25 years old. A petite woman with an open face. She looks at us a bit worried. "What's the stick for?" I ask.
A huge smile on her face. "For the piñata" she says pointing to a plastic bag she is carrying. "To break it" she adds seeing immediately that I didn't understand her answer.
Her friends call from across the street. A young woman all dressed up and a young man carrying a much shorter stick, more like half of a baseball bat. I just have the time to say "Your stick is nicer" and she runs to join them. I hear her boasting to her friends the opinion I just offered her. She'll keep that stick tonight.

My son the republican.

2006-03-26T21:56:00.000-05:00

Coming back on Saturday from the Seymour's photo exhibit at the Corcoran Museum, in front of the White House, at the corner of Pennsylvania Ave and 17th Street.
A family is crossing the street. The man is wearing a leather jacket, a bandana covering his head, some tatoos on his forearms. The rebel par excellence. His kid, about 8, is walking in front of him. He is wearing a pair of beige freshly pressed pants, a darker-colored sweater. His hair are cut short and neatly. My friend notes that he is dressed more conservatively. He is too young to fake an outsider or rebel status.

Tutor

2006-03-15T22:01:00.000-05:00

Bus 42 on my way downtown. A woman gets in with a little girl in tow. I hear her say in Spanish "Do you want to sit down?"
I don't hear the answer but soon I hear sobbing. It's the girl who is speaking in English through what seems tears. I quickly turn around to see the woman sitting with the little girl by her side. Apparently she can't follow in class. "It goes so fast" I hear her sobbing. The mother answers in Spanish "Have you told your teacher?" The little girl answers still in English that she raised her hand but the teacher didn't call her. Then comes the larger sob and the plea from the girl "I want a tutor to help me!" The mother clearly does not want to hire a tutor and she is giving now a lecture to the girl on the obligation of her teacher. I understand most of it and it seems like a pep-talk on the duties of a teacher to pay attention to everyone, to treat everybody the same. If she was speaking in French, I would expect the line on "Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité". The little girl is not buying it. She keeps insisting on a tutor. The world on its head: a kid begging for extra work that the mother is refusing to give her. They leave the bus still speaking, one pleading in English the other answering in Spanish..

Promise of untold stories

2006-03-11T23:00:00.000-05:00

Today in Fells Points, Baltimore. I'm there to meet a friend in town for a meeting. I just park in front of the water, right across the street of the Bonaparte pastry shop, one of the best French pastry shop in the area. A short walk to the meter to get a sticker for my car but the machine is not working with my credit card. I can't get a parking receipt to print and I don't want to try again for fear of getting charged every time I try.
I see two women ready to leave and I just call out to them for some help. Maybe they have the change for $4. One of the ladies comes up to me. She is about 60 years old. The air of a favorite grandmother, with a little smile in the corner of her mouth as if she was anticipating some joy that only she could see.
I ask her about the machine but with my accent she quickly asks me about my nationality and with my answer, she immediately switches to French. Her French is slow but perfect and singing. She is clearly enjoying speaking it and it is my turn to ask questions. She has never been to France but was born in Alexandria, Egypt from Italian parents who put her in a French school.
She jokes that her Arabic is almost gone and that her Italian is too rusty. "Not many people speak it around here" she says, and the ones who speak it, speak it in a way that is different from the ones she grew up speaking at home.
She used to live in New Jersey but moved to Baltimore a couple of months ago to be close to her daughter. She lives in a house for old people. She turns her head a bit whispering "old people only complain all the time. I prefer to be surrounded by young people. They have more energy". I follow her look to her car where her companion is sitting waiting for our conversation to end.
We laugh. I'd love to keep talking to her, to ask her stories from her childhood in Egypt. Ask about her impression of America when she arrived here probably as a teenager or a young adult. I'd like to know all the details that are never mentioned in any book. The smells, the sounds, the people. The same feeling than when I buy a new book. The promise of stories in these pages. I am ready to ask her for a phone number or an address but I fear not to be able to follow up on the enthusiasm of this instant. I fear to be disappointed. The best stories are the ones that are left untold. They are the ones still open in the imagination. I can see my friend coming toward us from his hotel so I just ask her name. "Nelly" she says. I tell her mine and we part. She gets into her car and leaves. I still have to find $4 in quarters to pay the parking machine.

Scenes from a short walk at night

2006-03-04T23:16:00.000-05:00

Three small vignettes from tonight as I was walking down 16th Street.

The crossroad at the intersection between Hobbart and Mt Pleasant is completely blocked by a car, a grey Prius, turning right. I hesitate to cross in front of the car as I'm not sure that the driver, a man in his 60's, saw me . The man turns around to check that the path is clear and I expect him to let me go first but he does not and just starts driving . When the car passes me I tapped gently on the back and keep walking. The car has turned now and I see it slowing down and waiting for me to catch up. The window goes down. "What did you do that for?" he is asking. "The right of way in crossroads is to pedestrians " I answer calmly. I don't want any fight, just to let him know what he should have done. "I waited a whole minute at this intersection because I could not see anything" he answers. My answer seems to surprise him. I just say "OK. I didn't know that" and keep walking. I'm sure he was expecting an argument.

Five boys about 11 or 12. All dressed in "gansta" mode with black tights head covers and bulky clothes are trying to cross 16th Street. One of them is bouncing a basketball. The traffic is heavy and they are stuck in the middle of the street, with cars zooming passed them in both directions. Finally one car stops and let them cross. One of them shouts "Thank you!" as they walked. Five well behaved boys in gangsta mode.

A dog is howling nearby and a guy walking toward me answers it "To you too!" As he finishes to address the dog, he catches my eyes and we both burst in laughter.

L'enfer est pavé de bonnes intentions

2006-02-25T19:05:00.000-05:00

I was buying the paper this morning. At a CVS on Connecticut Ave, near Politics and Prose.
The paper is 35 cents plus 2 cents tax for a total of 37 cents. I give the girl behind the counter one dollar and then as she is typing the amount in the machine, I find 7 cents and tell her "Wait! I have 7 cents" expecting an easier transaction. In fact, she looks puzzled. "How much should I give you back?" she is asking. I tell her "Well, I gave you 1 $ 07 and the paper cost 37 cents so you owe me 1$07 MINUS 37 cents and that's..." I want to let her do the math. She is about 15 or 16 years old. She probably knows how to subtract. She rushes to her pocket calculator as I say. "No, you can do it! I'll help you." I'm in my "teacher mode" now, working slowly with the numbers to make her understand. "How much is 10 minus 3 ?" I ask. When she answers "5", I just ask again. "Don't try to guess, count even on your hand if you have to". She obliges.
I turn around to apologize to the man behind me. I smile while saying that I hope he won't mind but it is important. "Teaching maths to a young mind". He does mind and calls someone to open a new line. I'm undeterred and keep explaining to the girl how to get the result that she needs. I've now got a pen, a paper and I'm scribbling on it, explaining as I write. "So you see, I gave you 7 cents extra from the dollars so that takes care of of the 7 cents extra from 30 cents of the paper". She sees but after telling me that 10 -3 is indeed 7, she cannot tell me that 1$ -30 cents is 70 cents.
After a full 2 minutes of explanations, she finally gets it and says 70 cents. I smile happy and convinced to have done good. As I get my money back (she did gave me the correct change), I ask her "Which grade are you?". Her answer takes me aback. "Twelve grade". I cannot help but joke "Twelve grade! What have you been doing for these 12 years?" Her smile vanishes. She looks at me straight and says with a clear voice "I have a learning disability". I do not know what to say so I just nod my head, feeling embarrassed. As I leave the store, I notice a woman in the line glaring at me with her eyes sending me insults and reproaches.

Taking it off

2006-02-20T18:20:00.000-05:00

I'm driving back to DC via another (and a bit longer) road. We've almost reached the highway and I'm getting a bit tired. A quick look into my rear-view mirror wakes me up completely. The 18-wheeler behind me has a huge confederate flag pinned down to the front. I've never seen this flag displayed so prominently. We're still in West Virginia, approaching the border with Maryland.
The truck is going much faster than I am. It passes me and disappears. About 20 minutes later, as we have already entered Maryland, I spot the truck on the side of the highway. The driver is walking toward the front. I surmise that he wants to get ride of the flag before keeping driving. After all in Maryland, this flag will not go unnoticed. I pass him before I can check if I was right.

Just say "NO"

2006-02-20T13:00:00.000-05:00

I'm in what's called a "ski farm". For $12 one has the right to go around a large patch of mostly flat and groomed snow. It's the perfect way to end a long weekend of intensive skiing. Just a relaxed run around. I have stopped to catch my breath and rest a bit. There is a kid by himself standing in front of me. A few minutes later he is joined by a man who congratulates him on his speed. "You beat me" I hear. The kid is laughing. "You're just not that fast". They both laugh until the man says "OK. I'm timing you this time. You'll race my course and I'll race yours. Three, two, one, GO!". The kid has not moved. The man insists. "GO, GO!" The kid stays put. The man asks the obvious "You don't want to go". The kid shakes his head. He does not want to race. He wants to enjoy the sun, the snow and the company of his father. No Olympic dreams can beat that.

"Call John"

2006-02-17T19:30:00.000-05:00

Driving to West Virginia's Canaan Valley for a weekend of ski with friends. I'm driving through small deserted towns. It is dark and a bit lugubrious. In the middle of what seems to be main street, I see an electronic board advertising real estate. The letters go fast spelling a short message "Land for sale. Call John". I guess I didn't realize it was that small a town.

Going around in circle

2006-02-15T12:16:00.000-05:00

Driving on 15th south on my way to the car inspection station, there is a group of workers in front of the "Old Ebbitt Grill". About 30 of them are chanting and marching in a small ellipse. so elongated that it seems more like two parallel lines of people marching in opposing direction. It is not clear what they are protesting as I can't understand what they are chanting. They are holding bright signs that I can't read from my car.
A peaceful demonstration going in circle.

Waterfalls

2006-02-04T13:20:00.000-05:00

I went hunting for the frozen waterfalls mentioned during a show of "Metro Connection" .
From the description, I was picturing a hidden place, a short hike scrambling on rocks and a sudden vision of water falling in a narrow deserted gorge. From my knowledge of the region, I know that the location of these waterfalls is in a "mall paradise", just north of the Beltway, a place where the wildest vegetation I expect to see is a bunch of overgrown bamboos in the lot of a lazy gardener.
I enlist the help of a friend and we head out toward the suburbs looking for the promised wilderness.
We find what seems to be the start of a walk on a paved path. The terrain is desperatly flat. A hint of a small hill here and there, but nothing that could sustain the waterfalls that I envisioned. We walk on some dirt path, encounter small train tracks, and a nicely manicured lawn surrounding a small pond. This is clearly a quiet and small park in the middle of the noise of the suburbs but no waterfalls.
Our first inquiry to an old man walking his dog yields a smile and a forceful "I've known this park for 20 years and never heard of a waterfall!"
A woman is coming up to us wearing earphones. A dog unleashed beside her. I call after her and she reluctantly takes off the earphones and mutters "Let me shut off this thing" fumbling for the pause button on her tape player. Same question about waterfalls. She pauses and tells us that there are no waterfalls in this park but there is another park on the other side of the pond we passed. "Maybe you'll find waterfalls there", she says. "You have to open a gate and walk in and maybe you'll find a place in that garden where water goes over some rocks and could be considered like a waterfall." She can see my disappointment and adds "Well, maybe they built one recently." We thank her but are both ready to walk back to the car. As we are leaving, my friend asks me " Did you notice the last sentence?" Yes I did. We are now both laughing at the "Maybe they built one recently", so typically American. "There are no waterfalls? Not a problem. We'll built one." Said with such a natural, such a poise.
How to explain that we are looking for waterfalls not simply to look at falling water but because they are landmarks, a signature from Mother Nature. No man-made waterfalls can be worth an exploratory trip. Even only one to the suburbs.

Imena

2006-01-31T21:24:00.000-05:00

At the local CVS, I'm in line to buy the papers. The man behind the cash register is making conversation with a woman. Both are laughing and smiling. She takes her time before leaving the counter. I get there almost annoyed by all this lost time waiting but it is impossible not to notice the smile on the man's face. I tell him how nice it is to see such a large smile. To my surprise, his smile widens and he tells me that the woman before me spoke to him in his native tongue. "My language" he keeps saying, "my language". I asked him where he is from. "Nigeria". The woman spoke Ibo. "She is learning it" he says, shaking his head in disbelief. "She is not from there. She is from here. American. And she is learning my language!" His voice is filled with pride. "Can you believe this?" I forgot my bad humor about the time spent waiting in line. I smile at his obvious happiness. "Yes I can believe it" I answer, "this is America".
I asks him how to say "Thank you" in Ibo and leave, thanking him in Ibo and promising to come back to learn some more words.

Microsoft word

2006-01-29T22:59:00.000-05:00

You know you're a foreigner when you get intimidated by the green line under a sentence in Microsoft Word. That line is telling you that what you just wrote is not considered proper in English. Just not correct enough for Uncle Sam or Bill Gates.
So today as I was typing a report, the line came under a sentence that I found perfectly normal and I began wondering what was wrong with it. If this was in French, I would have imposed my will to the software, telling it to go to hell and proceed but this is English. Not mine yet.
So I sweat for about 10 minutes trying to find and fix the mistake. A verb? A noun? An invisible extra space? I finally found it. The sentence was in the passive voice. A perfectly fine form of speech in French, an unacceptable treason of the energy of the language in English.

Alice in Wonderland

2006-01-22T01:41:00.000-05:00

I'm visiting a friend in Pennsylvania and we went to a jazz concert given in the local art museum. A perfect venue for the saxophone/accordion duo that plays tonight. The museum staff has put chairs in the room but I find it much nicer to walk around and look at the art while enjoying the music. One piece catches my attention. It shows what seems to be a complete blue canvas with sheets of paper coming out from underneath.
A closer inspection reveals that the artist has glued the entire book of "Alice in Wonderland" page by page. The pages are arranged in a 20x8 rectangle and only part of the pages on the edges is visible. The rest, the large majority of the pages, is hidden from view under a thick blue paint.
As I look at it a bit puzzled, a family comes by. The mother is talking to her kid (both have striking long, blond hair) and from time to time kisses him on the head. He must be around 10 but makes no attempt to avoid the public display of her love. The father strolls by and disappears in a closeby exhibit hall.
The kid has noticed the painting too and he too looks at it a bit puzzled. As the music surrounds us, there is very little talk but I see a docent approaches him and pointing out where to look. I follow her lead too and sure enough, can distinguish the lines of a drawing of Alice, a thin darker blue line almost invisible on this blue canvas.
I hear the kid saying "I see it!" and he turns proudly to his mother with a huge smile. She smiles back. The kid look back at the painting. Modern art is not that obscure after all.

Birds

2006-01-21T01:38:00.000-05:00

On my way to work this morning. I see the old man pointing the birds to the woman on the passenger's side of the car parked at the corner of W and 14th street. He is holding a bag and after making sure the woman is looking, he walks into the parking lot (the one where people gather in the early morning for work) and starts emptying the bag. Soon the pavement is covered with bread crumbs and pigeons flying in from the nearby roofs. Small birds come too but they don't have a chance in front of pigeons. The man is oblivious to the many birds that swarm around him. He is still pouring the bread and shakes the bag to make sure it is completely empty.
I see seagulls joining the party as I drive away, surrounded by the sound of the birds and the honks of the impatient drivers behind me.

Freaking NASA

2006-01-15T22:43:00.000-05:00

The Air and Space museum on the Mall, on a tour of the Skylab module. Clearly, the greater mystery of space is "How do bathrooms work with no gravity?"
The display on our right seems to be entirely devoted to waste, waste recycling and disposal. A small piece of white fabric is marked "Towel restraining device." A couple is walking right in front of me. I hear the woman reading the sign out loud and she turns to her boyfriend with disbelief "Towel restraining device??? Freaking NASA!"
They both laught. Ah! To convey the beauty of space...

Skipping

2006-01-15T16:20:00.000-05:00

As I was walking down 16th Street, four guys came out of an apartment building about 10 meters in front of me. They are laughing around when suddenly I see one of them skipping. Skipping just like a little girl. He is skipping a few meters in front of his friends and then laughs when he turns back to face them. He is rather skinny, a young guy wearing a T-shirt in this sunny, but chilly day. His arms rotate in large circles. The whole scene is very childish until I see him jump straight up, spreading his feet in the air and reaching his shoes with his hands fully extended. It is done seemingly effortlessly and he lands on the asphalt, still laughing after this show of pure strength.
A few meters down the road I see all four of them piling up in a car with Florida's licence plates and taking off.

Circus and Caesar

2006-01-13T23:47:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I went to see some of the Alito hearings. Democracy in action. I came away with a taste for the circus it really is.
In the Hart building, next to Union Station, we are walked under escort to the public gallery in the room where the hearings are held.
The place is at the same time intimidating and quite disappointing. It is a small hall compared to what I had envisioned but the ambience is quite formal and deferent.
The press tables are almost all empty (Alito himself has finished to testify so most of the press is gone). One journalist is clearly getting bored. He is quite young, with wavy hair and a suit in which he seems uncomfortable. A large yawn, his mouth open and no attempt to cover it. His laptop is open in front of him and after another large yawn, he starts cruising the net. I can see the "Google" screen and what seems to be a sport page right after. Another yawn. A young woman strolls by and he becomes animated. Because of the hearing, they can't talk, at least not loudly and he proceeds to tell her what seems to be a funny story because his face is laughing in anticipation of the punch line. I can see him mouthing "Oh My God!" as their discussion ends. She leaves and he gets back to yawning. Several seats away a woman is reading the "Style" section of the Washington Post. The most impressive, though, is the clear power emanating from the senators. They are seating in leather chairs, while everybody else is seating on small, simple chairs. They are looking down at the witness table and their every whim is answered by their staffers sited behind them. One senator turns his head half an inch. This is enough to get a young man lean toward him immediately. The senator first covers the microphone that is right next to him before whispering to the young man that is now kneeling right behind him. I can see he is taking orders, nodding his head slightly as the senator is speaking.
At the end of the day, I see two staffers, bent under the weight of the heavy files they are carrying, walking in the wake of the senator's stride. He is really striking. Tall with magnificent white hair, he is walking erect, his head high, scanning the room at the same time. All in him say poise and power.

Kneeling for praying

2006-01-07T23:27:00.000-05:00

On a nice walk around town. I am on the phone with a friend while walking on 16th Street toward the White House. I am almost there when I notice the two young women kneeling on the sidewalk. They are both young, not older than 20. They are both wearing low-cut pants and light tops. Nothing to distinguish them from any teenagers, except that they are kneeling on the sidewalk. I am still on the phone so I can't ask any question or start a conversation so I look around and I realize that they are in front of the entrance of "Planned Parenthood", a pro-abortion advocacy group. I now can hear them muttering "Jesus" in a low voice prayer that sounds more like a song. This is Saturday so the building is closed and there is no one around. Praying with such fervor in front of an empty building.

Satellite year

2006-01-02T12:13:00.000-05:00

At a party for the new year. The party is organized by the boyfriend of the roommate of a friend of a friend. I know almost nobody there. We arrive right before midnight and the place is packed. The basement is overflowing with people dancing to the rhythm of unfamiliar music. I will learn later that this is music is from Angola as most of the people in the house were either born there or have links to that country. There is serious dancing going on. It is 11:59 PM and I see everyone around me getting their cell phones out. It is a strange sight, everyone is still dancing but they're all looking at the cell phone in their hands. The moment their cell phone turns to midnight everyone shouts "Happy New Year!" Perfectly in sync, thanks to the cell phone satellite system.

Simple dialogue.

2005-12-25T22:36:00.000-05:00

3 PM at the box office of the Dupont Circle theater showing "Brokeback mountain". The two men in front of me are buying their tickets.
"Two tickets please for the 7 PM show. One senior and one student."

Magic carpet

2005-12-23T16:07:00.000-05:00

This morning I went to pick up a couple of rugs that I had given to clean to Bergmann's. I had been told by friends that this was a Washington's institution and the place to go for all things related to cleaning rugs. I arrived pretty annoyed already: it had taken a phone call a couple of days ago to learn that my rugs were ready (and had been for more than a month), that after 30 days they could not guarantee that the rugs will still be there, and that the price will be about $ 100 more than I had expected to pay. In addition, when I had told the woman on the phone that I was expecting a call from them telling me that the rugs were ready, she treated me as the worst liar in the area (and I live in Washington DC!). In short, I arrived at the store worried about getting back all the rugs (among them, a rug from my grandfather's household) and ready for a fight.
It does not help that a woman carrying a rug into her car is swearing aloud that this is the last time she comes there. I ask her about her plight and get a tale of lost or badly cleaned rugs. She tells me "This store used to be so good! When it was the four old men. Now it's a disaster!". Maybe this is what my friends meant when they said it was a Washington's institution.

I walk in and quickly get reassured: they still have all the rugs I gave them (including my grandfather's). It is now just a question to check carefully how much they are charging me.
A woman is waiting in the hall as well and it appeared that she had a problem identical to mine: she waited for a phone call from the store while they were waiting for hers. Now they can't find her carpet and she is not happy. I pay and start carrying the rugs into my car. One of them is too big and heavy for me to carry, so I ask for help from someone. A tall black guy with three front teeth missing comes up and grab the carpet effortlessly. As he reaches the car, he looks at the torn wrapper around the carpet and asks "How long ago did you give the rug to clean?" I tell him about a month and explain the misunderstanding about it. He shakes his head "Rugs walk out of here. You should keep an eye on them." He explains that the torn paper is a sure sign that someone, attracted by the large size of my rug, wanted to have a closer look at it. Clearly it was not valuable enough for that someone to risk stealing it. I'm happy although somewhat vexed by the thought that my grandfather's rug (a Moroccan rug from the beginning of last century) didn't pass the test either. Its wrapper is a bit torn but maybe the thieves don't like wool woven carpets. Only fancy Iranian ones.
As I realized what could have happened, the man is explaining the cleaning process. I'm curious about it and ask some questions when he suggests "I can show you the machines if you want." My eyes brightened. A big smile. "Sure!" I say. I lock the car and we walk back in the store. I am not unhappy to see the look of astonishment that the woman at the counter is giving me: I am going where no costumer is allowed. I'm following the man down a flight of stairs and enter a parallel universe. It is a huge warehouse filled with people (most of them clearly South American) folding clothes, loading machines, unloading machines. There is steam everywhere and it smells like a giant laundry room (which it is after all). We walk toward the back and the man shows me a large machine with pipes everywhere. He is pointing proudly to all the tubes. "Warm, soft soap comes from here" "the rugs are hold in place here" "there is water coming out from here" "the brushes clean the rugs here". I imagine the rugs being brushed with the constant stream of warm mild soapy water. The next station is the drying stage. I can see large rugs hung and I feel the hot air blowing onto them. At the other end of the large drying station, there is the "rolling machine" the one that put the rugs into the wrapper, the one that was torn to check the quality of my grandfather's carpet.
I am so happy with this unplanned visit that in return, I invite my host to come and visit my work place whenever he wants. I hope that he likes computers...

Upside down

2005-12-18T21:01:00.000-05:00

The Christmas tree at the corner of Columbia road and 16th street. In the garden of one of the many churches around. It is covered with blue light that change from blue to white progressively: first the top, then a small patch below, then another patch below and so on until the complete tree is lit in a bright white light. Then all the lights turn blue again before the top turns white again.
Something in the pattern does not seem right but I can't put my finger on it until I realize that it is normally arranged the other way: the base of the tree lighting up, then a bit more, then a bit more keeping the top for last until the whole tree is lit. It should not matter but somehow it does. An upside-down display of lights.

Time for prayers

2005-12-15T19:14:00.000-05:00

A framing shop on Connecticut Ave, near the Van Ness subway station. It is a little after 10 in the morning and there is still a "Closed" signed posted although the business hours indicate that the store is opened from 10 AM to 6 PM everyday.
I peer inside and see a woman at the counter. She is wearing the traditional head cover of religious Muslim women. She gestures toward me and I push the door open. She smiles widely in explaining that she just had forgotten to change the sign. I explained to her what I want: a new cut in a mat I already have. I show her the picture that I want framed, the mat and new cut I'd like to do in the mat. She told me that the machine can't do that because there is a minimum length for a cut. She seems to know a lot on the different cuts available, the advantages of each techniques. The bottom line is that I am probably going to have to buy a new mat. $12. I'm not sure I want to do that so I tell her that I will think about it and come back during the day if I decide to do it. "Do you close for lunch?" I ask. "No" she said, "I am opened for lunch but I close for my prayers." She pauses as if she was computing something and then adds "Today I'll close around 3 PM and around 5 PM. I'll put a sign outside." I smile and ask "How long is the prayer?". She does not smile back but answer gravely "about 15 mn." I nod and tell her that I'll be back if I decide to buy a new mat instead of just cutting the old one. I did recognize the flame in her eyes: she has the fervor of the newly converted.

Paying customer

2005-12-11T21:24:00.000-05:00

I was glad I got the bus on time. I had just seen a movie and spent some times reading a book in the bookstore. I was not sure I wanted to buy it so I read the first two chapters and then decided that I could just come back to read some more.
She was sitting at the bus stop, an old woman who had just lit up a cigarette. In the instant it took me to turn around to see the bus coming, the woman had already put the cigarette away. As I let her climb in the bus first, she puts her hand to her mouth to feel her front tooth. She is shaking it with the pleasure of a kid playing with a temporary tooth about to fall. I see that her skin is ravaged with large opened wounds on her chin and her forehead. I can see now that she is wearing her coat inside-out and as I follow her in the bus I smell the incredible stench of urine that surrounds her.
She goes to sit in front and the whole bus starts to stink. Two women, wearing the traditional Muslim head covers look at her and decide to sit in the back of the bus. I put a scarf in front of my face to filter the air. I am now all covered very much like the two women hidding their faces at the back of the bus.
After two stops someone comes to talk to the driver. I hear that he is asking the driver to kick the woman out. "There is nothing I can do" the driver said shaking her head. "But it stinks in the whole bus and we can't open the windows because it is so cold!" replies the passenger, clearly unnerved by the idea of sharing his space with the old woman. The driver keeps shaking her head. "There is nothing I can do. She is a paying customer."
The bus arrives at the corner of Columbia Road and 18th street. The old woman, oblivious to the stares, gets up and walk toward the front of the bus. I would have been a bit more charitable toward her if she had not scared the little girl that was getting ready to go out as well. "Walk faster" she almost shouted to the terrified child. Her mom quickly turns around and grabs the girl. The old lady gets out at last. The driver open the window to let some fresh air in. We all breath deeply. It is not that cold and the fresh air feels like a blessing.

Hidden exit

2005-12-07T23:51:00.000-05:00

There is a movie festival going on in town and I am at the Bethesda Row theater after the screening of "Roots" a weird Russian film that was advertised as a comedy but features a rape scene that ends up with the woman asking for more. Very funny indeed.
Instead of heading out directly I chat with one guy I know and who happens to be one of the volunteers of the festival. He wants to show me the place where they put all their material . A door and a small corridor where I see a table and a couple of chairs, folded. As I step in, the door closes behind me and we're locked in.
The volunteer, who must have had this happen to him quite a few time, tells me that we should exit from the "other side". I'm not quite sure what he means but I follow. We walk through one door, then climb stairs and finally another door that opens on a nicely decorated lobby. We've crossed one block underground. We are in a building's entrance located in the street nearby.
The door on this side is hidden, disguised as one of the wood-looking panels that cover one side of the lobby. The door closes silently and locks itself into place. Now the entrance is quite invisible. For a minute I felt like James Bond.

Small prints and large shoes

2005-12-04T22:47:00.000-05:00

I am on my way to exchange a pair of boots that I bought on Sunday. I put them on Monday and the right boot bothered me all day. It is too big.
The shoe store is a large store on Connecticut Ave, right before Dupont Circle. There are four almost identical stores in a 20 meter radius. All under the same management. My encounter with the clerk does not go as smoothly as I had anticipated. (After all, this is America as I was explaining my mother, just the day before) "You've worn them" she said. "We don't replace worn shoes". I assure her that the sale person I talked to on Sunday told me that I could bring them back. I had asked him about the waterproof quality of the boots. He had assured me that these were the best on the market. "So if I find myself with wet feet, I can come back?" I had asked. "Sure, no problem. Bring the shoes back and we'll change them"
The problem is: the company policy forbids all exchange on shoes that have been worn. "How am I supposed to test the shoes to see if they are waterproof without wearing them?" I ask the clerk. "Just walk around in your house" is the answer I get. There is no telling if she is serious or not. On the contrary, the fact that it hardly rains inside my house seems to be a perfect reason to test the waterproof quality of the shoes there only.
After half an hour arguing without any result I decide to come back when the manager is on duty. From her description, it seems that the manager is the guy who promised that the shoes could be returned. I don't want to return them, I want to exchange them for a smaller size.

The next day I am there after work. The discussion with the manager starts right away and as I ask him to confirm his promise, he said that yes, I could return the boots if there was a defect with them (like a problem with their waterproof quality) but not if this is just a matter of size.
We argue for 5 minutes until he recognizes that he should have been clearer, that his promise lead to ambiguity. I am happy now. I won the argument with another promise that I can change the shoes. Happily, I ask him to bring me the smaller size to try on before I take them home.
They don't fit. I need the size I have already.

C'est l'Amerique!

2005-12-01T18:30:00.000-05:00

After the trip described in the previous post I went back to Ikea to get a refund on some of the merchandise that I had purchased. Not only I had opened the boxes, I had also put together the cabinet, even drilled into it. "No problem" says the woman with the blue and yellow shirt, "with a receipt, we will take everything back". I am blown away and tell my mother the story. Her reaction is quite typical. She sights with admiration "Seulement en Amerique!" Only in America...

Forgotten

2005-11-29T15:31:00.000-05:00

I'm on my way to a meeting being held in town. No travel necessary, just a short ride on the subway. At the "L'Enfant Plaza" station as I am walking on the platform toward the exit, I see a young guy with 2 suitcases in front of him. He is padding his pockets, with an anxious look on his face. I see him look in a small bag and then back in his pockets. Clearly he is missing something that he cannot find. Leaving the bags behind him, he rushes back toward the train which is ready to leave the station. The young guy peers through the window, clearly trying to see where he was seating, looking for whatever he cannot find. The subway doors are closed and even if he could see what he forgot he would not be able to retrieve it. The train starts moving and the young man has to let go of the window and of the train. It is not clear from his face if he saw something or not.
He should get back to his other bags before they disappear too.

Silence love

2005-11-27T00:41:00.000-05:00

In line in Ikea's food store for a quick ice-cream before getting the merchandise I've just paid for.
A woman in her forties is standing in front of me with a young kid about 12 year old.
She has thin blond hair, pale skin. He has dark and curly hair and brown skin. I hear him say "and I know that you'll ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever ever do anything to hurt me -- except to ground me to my room for the rest of my life. Right Momy?" She gives him a hug as he keeps talking about how much he loves her. Soon afterward another kid comes up, he looks like his brother, a little older and is listening to music. He gives his brother his jacket, forcing it in his hands and then leaves. All while listening to music. He has not said a word. The younger brother keeps talking and talking. Enough that the mother bends toward him and I hear her whisper in his ear "Stop talking right now!" It is said very softly but the message is cold. The kid shuts up. Not for long though. He is soon yapping again. The line is very slow but as we advance to almost the front I see the first kid coming back with a man who is clearly the father. He too is listening to music. He gestured to the two in front of me and they both leave the line. Again not a word is exchanged.
The younger kid clearly speaks for the entire family.

Road outrage

2005-11-26T00:29:00.000-05:00

I am driving a friend to the airport.
In Georgetown, the streets are filled with people, a different feel from the rest of the city which has been deserted in this Thanksgiving weekend. We're waiting at a red light on M street, before crossing to Virginia. The car in front of us wants to turn left. Its blinkers are on. Then, without any apparent reason, it moves to turn as the light is still red and cars are passing by in the others directions. I cannot believe my eyes: the light didn't just become red, it is not about to turn green. It is red. Plain and simple. The car finally sneaks between upcoming cars and makes its turn.
My friend, a French Canadian living in the states for a long time and married to an American, is just laughing at my outrage. Where are those drivers coming from??

Thanksgiving

2005-11-24T22:59:00.000-05:00

What a strange holiday that is! A day to offer our thanks, in a complete secular way (if one chose so), for what we have. There is no equivalent anywhere in the world.
I did not always celebrate Thanksgiving. It seemed a weird celebration with strange food. At the time, I was a student in New York and had worked through the day and came back to find the super-intendant of the building in the lobby. He asked me if I had celebrated and I answered truthfully that I had not, using the quietness of the office to get even more done in the day. Not a big deal really. I will not forget the expression of sorrow that came onto his face. He was truly sorry for me. He shook his head and made me promise that I would not that again, not partaking into the celebration of gratefulness. What struck me that day was that he was clearly an immigrant from some South American country, his English was still mixed with Spanish. Nevertheless this was an holiday that he could not conceive neglecting. He was the one who made me think about Thanksgiving differently. As the bond of the nation, the feeling of belonging, and a nice occasion to get together with friends. I kept my promise and have celebrated ever since. A complete American.

Looking for a fight

2005-11-19T21:38:00.000-05:00

I went to the post office with all the toys I promised my niece and had not sent yet. I am carrying a large "Toy R Us" bag so it is not hard to guess what's in there.. The man behind me guesses right "Toys for your nieces and nephews?" I don't want to tell him that the 3 boxes are in fact for just my niece (I owed her many forgotten birthdays...) so I just nod. He asks where do they live and I answer "Israel". Usually, the name of this country alone is enough to trigger a reaction. People hate it, love it, attack it or defend it but they are never indifferent to it. Nothing like if I had said "Norway" or "Pakistan" or "Iran". "Israel" is the country that awake something different in people. This time is no exception but the reaction is unusual. The man, wearing a baseball cap and clear shaven, tells me the story of his father, a World War II veteran who had a star of David engraved on his military dog tag. I'm not sure what to make of it and so I ask "Is he Jewish?". The man laughs. "No, not at all, he is Italian." and he adds. "You'll have to meet my father to understand this, but it makes perfect sense really. He boxed when he was young, was part of an Italian gang" (I notice that he does not say "Mafia..") and he wanted to pick fights with everybody. He just figured that having a Star of David on his tags was the best way to achieve this. Someone was bound to pick up on him. Right??"
I'm amazed that someone would voluntary pass for Jewish for the many fight opportunities that it provides. I sure hope he was a good boxer.

You don't need a weatherman...

2005-11-13T21:49:00.000-05:00

On my way out from the movie theater (a delightful movie from Slovenia at the AFI). It's about 9:00 PM and I hurry toward my car. A woman comes up to me and I anticipate a question about money or directions when I hear: "Do you know what the weather will be like tomorrow?"
I make her repeat the question for fear that I misunderstood it, but not, it's really a weather forecast question. Unfortunately I don't know the answer and rake my brain to remember the previsions that I read yesterday in the Post. "I'm not sure", I say, "I think they said it will rain", adding "but that's from yesterday's paper so it may not be accurate."
She smiles with the incredulous air of an atmospheric scientist to whom someone has just asked to predict the weather for the next year. "In yesterday's paper! How do you want me to take you seriously!" I can almost read on her face. "Sorry" I offer, "I was not paying attention". She turns her attention away, looking for someone who would know.

Jackpot

2005-11-10T23:28:00.000-05:00

He must have seen something on the road because he bent down to pick it up as the lights turned green and in doing so became invisible in the darkness of this cold evening. The traffic starts moving and I still can't see him, hidden by the enormous cars that are going on each of his sides.
I finally see him straightening, appearing in the middle of the traffic, and making his way to the safety of the sidewalks. I see him smiling as he put something in the plastic cup he was holding.
Risking his life, for (less than) a fistful of dollars.

Empty seat

2005-11-09T22:58:00.000-05:00

I went on Tuesday to listen to a talk on Maimonides. Even at 10$ the seat, the place is packed, almost sold out.
The speaker is the author of a new book on Maimonides, a disappointingly small book that I looked at before the talk. The talk starts on a light note as he proceeds to tell a joke, mixing happily Yiddish and English. Late comers are still pouring in. There is an empty seat in the row right before us, sightly on the left. A man, about 60 year old, wearing what looks like a biker's vest with light reflectors on the sleeves, starts entering the row to go sit on the empty seat.
He is almost there when the woman to the left of the seat, realizing where the man is going, shakes her head and motions him to turn around. "The seat is taken" she says, adding the obvious "I'm still waiting for the person to come". The man nods and makes his way back to the alley. I see him sitting on the stairs of the amphitheater, right next to my row. It looks uncomfortable.
The seat stays empty during the two hours of the talk on how the compassion and direct relation that Maimonides had for his patients are so apparent in his writings.
I see the woman nodding with approval and admiration. She is clearly enthralled by the thought of someone from the 12th century being devoted and open to his fellow human beings.

Body heat

2005-11-01T22:56:00.000-05:00

I wished I had a camera. Around 8:00 AM on my way to work. On Florida Ave, near the intersection with New York Ave. They were standing in the morning cold. His arms are around her but she is looking outward, toward us. Both are dressed shabbily, with empty eyes looking straight ahead but at nothing. They look homeless. She must be 50 or 60, an old black woman. He must be 30 or 40, a white guy, dirty with a unkempt beard and several missing teeth. It looks like he is just warming her up. They look both helpless and invincible.

Halloween

2005-10-30T01:11:00.000-05:00

With a friend, on our way out from the restaurant, around midnight, we are walking behind two women, one of them clearly drunk. She is walking barefoot, her shoes in her hand. The other is not completely sober but at least she walks with her shoes on. They are soon met by friends, or at least a couple with whom they are friendly. Just before entering a party at Child Harrold in Dupont Circle, I see the woman stop to put on her shoes. She will not enter the party barefoot. She is probably not as drunk as it seems.

We soon get to my friend's car and she is insisting to driving me back home. We drive for less than half a mile when we come across a procession of costumed men. Some more happy than others. They waive and one of them comes up to the car. I can't find the switch to roll down the window. I hear him yelling "Are you afraid? Open the window!" I smile and when finally the window does get rolled now, I force my French accent as if this will explain everything (maybe it does). "Sorrrrry! I didn't know how to open ze window!" He blows a kiss to both of us and leaves happy. We roll the windows back up and take another road home.

Street artist

2005-10-28T20:05:00.000-04:00

I' ve seen her many times. She stands at the corner of the street, asking people for money. This time I am in my car as I see her standing at the entrance of the liquor store. The young guy who comes out with the beer for the party he is heading to, does not have a chance. I can't hear what she says but he stops and hands her some cash immediately. She pretends to walk away, he goes. She is back to the corner in no time. She has her technics down to an art form.

Wrong way

2005-10-26T19:58:00.000-04:00

The curve is what got him (somehow, I can't picture a woman doing this). The driver of the grey car who probably decided that he didn't want to enter the parkway after all and instead of entering the parkway and get off at the first opportunity, made a U-turn here and there to drive against traffic toward the road whence it came. I didn't see all this, all I see is a car, stuck at a weird angle on an access road to the parkway. The road is curving in, the car is trying to drive out, getting it all wrong. No car is coming his way, so he may have the time to drive back all the way to the road without provoking an accident.
I'm certainly glad he is not entering the parkway. This man is a danger to everybody on the road.

Old man on 16th Street

2005-10-25T23:52:00.000-04:00

I saw him and knew something wasn't right. What could be more normal? This was an old man pushing a baby carrier.
All I know is that I kept looking as I was driving toward him, slowing down to check them both out, the old man and the baby, for a longer time.
When I passed them, I found out, looking in my rear view mirror what was not right.
The baby carrier was filled with a large blanket that seemed wet by the rain. There was no baby and the old man looked tired and sick. Not the happy grandfather pushing his grandson or granddaughter that he could have been. I watched as he stopped to sneeze in a large piece of dirty fabric that he just pulled out.
It was cold outside and he looked so lost.

Line up

2005-10-20T23:55:00.000-04:00

On my way driving back from work, probably around 8 PM. It is already dark and I am driving on Columbia Road. There are three police cars with their flashing lights on at the intersection with Georgia Ave. I'm stopped at the red light. I looked casually at the scene and see what I think is a man holding his hands up high in front of one of the police car. It seems that they have lined up a whole bunch of people for what seems a nasty round up. Then I realize my mistake: I'm looking at a painted fence, decorated with a lot of portraits including one that seems to be of a man at his graduation day, throwing his hands in the air. He has a kid nearby. I can't see all the others. In the darkness of the evening and surrounded by the police cars, I mistook the drawings for real people. The left side of the fence is an unfinished sentence on unfinished education...

Nike

2005-10-15T21:02:00.000-04:00

A friend is visiting and has asked me to go shopping. He has presents to bring back for his wife and children. I oblige and we're soon find ourselves in shoe stores looking for Nike Impax.
In the first store, the salesperson tells us that these shoes do not exist. My friend checks again in
a short conversation with his son (thanks God for cell phones!) and we are soon on our way to store number two. Same question. The saleswoman turns to a gentleman, about 50, tastefully dressed in suit standing next to the cash register and repeat the question to him. He is obviously the expert. He nods at the question and looks at us. He answers as he walks toward us: "We have just one size left but these are not very good shoes. Nike made them to have some shoes like the "shock" at a lower price." His voice is very calm, soothing almost and he has an accent that I cannot place.
And he launches in the complete marketing strategy and all the different types of shoes made by Nike. I learn about full shocks ("Not good for a kid -- he probably does not need full support") to the high shocks, the low one. He is beaming as he tells us "the Nike shocks are very good quality shoes". He points to us the difference between the shock and the Impax. My friend is undecided. Understandably, he wants to bring back the exact model that his son asked him. The man smiles "Your son is a very nice kid. He is trying to save you money." We all laugh. My friend is not buying the shoes but a basketball jersey , also part of the list of wishes from one other son. He is almost done with the visa transaction when the man comes back to us with a shoe in his hand. It's a new Nike Air. He is explaining to us that Nike put them back on the market to please the part of the population that had grown up with them. I am fascinated by this guy who obviously knows and loves shoes in general and Nike in particular. Here is someone who goes at great length to inform and be informed on Nike. As we were just talking about the difference between France and the US, the temptation is too strong. I turn to my friend to point out that one would not find this kind of professionalism in a shoe vendor in France. They would be making you feel bad while resenting the fact that they are supposed to be at your service and that you're buying shoes that they can't afford.
The mark of serious trouble ahead for France? "The country where shoesalemen resent work". We leave the store. I can't resist asking the gentleman about his accent. He is from Iran. I bow to his professionalism.

The perfect crime

2005-10-14T22:29:00.000-04:00

If they were stealing this bike, they were the best thieves I've met. A bunch of guys, in Adams Morgan, trying the get a bike up to the pole to which it had been locked. The bike is nice and its owner has tied it up to a large parking pole. A thin metal pole with some signs at the top. The guys are pushing the bike up trying to get it pass the top of the pole. They've put a guy in equilibrium on a nearby garbage can and he is pulling the bike up while his friends are pushing it up from below.
This is not a fast operation and soon a crowd has gathered around them, taking pictures and watching. If these are thieves, they're the best as nobody will ever suspect them. Brilliant.

Two new cars. One scared driver

2005-10-12T01:58:00.000-04:00

An hilarious scene today on my way to work. I'm stopped at a red light at the bottom of the hill on Franklin Street, near Trinity College when I hear screeching breaks of a coming car. I turn around to see a battered white old car coming toward the car stopped on my right. The driver of that car must have heard and seen the same thing as the car move quickly a bit pass the red light to make sure it is not hit by the upcoming car. It's a brand new car with temporary licence plates. Dark red and still shiny. The white car is slowing down and comes to an halt. The driver is a teenage girl. There are 4 other girls in the car and they are all laughing and giggling. The car in front moves just a tiny bit to make sure that there is still a respectable distance between it and the white car. The girls move too. The two cars kept moving but small increment. The driver in the new car in front is clearly scared to death from the car behind. They move together bit by bit until the light turns green and the new car takes off as fast as possible. I see that the white car also have temporary tags. This car is "new" for the teenage driver behing the wheel...

One more image from Spain (Spain VII)

2005-10-11T11:04:00.000-04:00

When talking to a friend today, I realized that there was one image from Spain that I had forgotten to mention: the workers' uniform.
It had been a very long time since I had seen groups of men going in the streets wearing the famous "bleu de travail". I used to see a lot of them in France but these days my stays in France are too short and restricted to Paris so I usually don't see much. I don't recall having seen people wearing them in the US. Maybe that's also because here I am mostly in a big town or maybe they are not in fashion here: Nothing like a used, torn "bleu de travail" to evoke workers, strikes, socialism and the glory days of labor movements in the 30s.
Maybe it is not surprising that it is not hugely popular here. That uniform marks you as a worker, surely something to be avoided in the country of triumphant capitalism.

European Union umbrella

2005-10-08T11:09:00.000-04:00

The farmer's market that comes here every Saturday. The bread truck is late and we are all waiting for them to show up. A group of about 10 people clutching umbrellas without any convictions as we all are getting wet in the strong rain that is coming down on DC.
I notice that one of the guy waiting has an umbrella with the European Union logo from the time when they were only 15, not 25 or whatever number they are now.
The blue background with the yellow stars dancing (not to say going) in circle.

The bread truck finally arrives and they set up. The guy is now standing under their canopy, his umbrella on his shoulder, pointing at a small angle. He does not notice that water is coming down directly from the roof into the inverted umbrella and directly on his lower back. I can't get my eyes off the water dripping down but for some reason I don't say anything. When he notices what is happening, he is completely drenched. He looks at me as if it were my fault and I can't help feel guilty. Was it the logo on the umbrella that kept me silent?

Internet connection (Paris II)

2005-10-05T22:47:00.000-04:00

After few days of a fruitless search for a free Wi-fi spot in Paris, a friend suggested an hotel so here I am in "Le Meridien" a chic hotel located Porte Maillot, in front of the "Palais des Congres", looking for a place to sit and start working. I go downstairs to the Business Center which turns out to be a small room with two sleek computers screens, a printer and a fax machine. I sit down and realize quickly that I can't connect to their Wi-fi net without a card that needs to be purchased at the hotel desk. The two computer screens show a nice website asking for 8 euros for a 15 minutes connection. A bit steep. I unplug the ethernet cable from one of the machines and plug it in my own laptop. I immediately get connected to a site asking for 9 euros for a two hours connection, the price that the hotel pays before asking almost 10 times that...
I pay with my credit card and start working. Two minutes later, a woman comes in and tells me that this is not allowed. I figure that if I start speaking in French she'll kick me out. My instinct is to play the American tourist that needs an urgent connection home. So I look at her and tell her, in English, that I just paid and all is fine. I'm a bit worried that she'll recognize my French accent but she only seems happy to understand what I say and leaves. I keep working for more than 2 hours, paying another connection when another guy comes in. He looks angry and it looks for a minute than he is going to unplug my computer without saying a word but I react quickly and ask him, still in English, what the hell is he doing. His English is quite bad but he manages to say that my plugging my laptop directly is forbidden. I realize that he thinks that I am not paying anything so this is the first thing I tell him "I just paid with my credit card so I am keeping my connection". I don't tell him that I paid the price that the hotel is paying and not the price that it is charging to the unsuspecting tourists. He seems unconvinced, and keeps telling me that "It is impossible" so I show him the receipt from the transaction I save as a pdf file hoping he won't notice the amount. After some more convincing that the work I needed to do could only be done on my laptop, he seems unhappy but not angry anymore and leaves.
Who would have thought that to be treated well in France, I'd have to speak English?

Eclipse (Paris I)

2005-10-03T23:09:00.000-04:00

Stopping over in Paris for a couple of days on my way back to the US. Always good to be back home. In the tram coming back from the dentist, I realize that the partial solar eclipse is going on and that I forgot the special glasses home. I can't resist the temptation to look up. The light goes through some leaves and the small space between them each acts as a pinhole camera, giving an image of the crescent Sun. A magnificent spectacle that I am eager to share with my fellow travelers. No one cares enough to raise their eyes to the light. I can't keep mine off the spectacle. When I arrive at my destination and get off the train, everything is spotty and my eyes hurt. I should know better.

Segovia (Spain VII)

2005-09-29T22:24:00.000-04:00

Another town with narrow streets but Segovia is much nicer than Toledo. Just more friendly and a bit smaller. We are on our way to the Alcazar, one of the town's treasures (the other being the aqueduct, a construction dating from more than 2000 years. Can any of of our modern constructions last that long??) when we encounters people dressed in period costumes. Most are on horses and dressed as Napoleon's soldiers. Some are wearing the traditional Turkish tarbush. We ask. They are shooting a movie directed by Milos Forman. The subject would be something related to the Goya's painting called "Los Fusilamientos del 3 de Mayo". Probably a movie exposing the massacres perpetrated by the French soldiers at that time. I make a mental note to keep an eye for the movie's release.

Helping hands (Spain VI)

2005-09-28T21:26:00.000-04:00

People here will help you to death. It seems that it is considered bad manners to say "I don't know" to someone asking for an information. A bit like Japan.
As a civil service to all of you reading this and traveling to Spain, here is what you should know:
If someone you just asked for directions starts by shaking his or her head, it's a bad sign. What will follow is probably completely wrong, just a way to avoid admitting ignorance.
In the 5 days we spent in Spain, we got the funny "I see you're very disoriented. You'll never get there from here", the subtle "Keep driving for another 4 blocs and then ask again", the obvious "Just turned around, you may find someone who can give you direction further down the road".
The best, though, was the small town meeting that my asking provoked in one instance. The old man that I had called from my car, just turned around to ask a small group of elders sited nearby and there it was, a group of 4 or 5 men discussing among themselves with from time to time the first man turning to me and smiling as if to say "Be patient, we'll have the answer after one more round of intense discussion".
It was too funny to get annoyed even if we were a bit behind schedule.
We were on our way after about 10 full minutes. We started to follow the indications but soon were lost again and had to ask someone else after about 4 blocks.

Toledo (Spain V)

2005-09-27T22:00:00.000-04:00

Still in the cathedral, after my visit to the depressing gallery, I return to find my mother eager to exit. On our way out, she tells me of a scene she has just witnessed. An old man came to the entrance of the gallery and asked the guard to use the private batheroom there. He apparently needed to go without delay. The guard was pityless. "The batheroom is private and you cannot use it. You'll have to exit the cathedral (and pay another 8 Euros if you want to come back in..)".
My mother is outraged with the lack of sympathy from the guard. She has already all sorts of theories on the old man's health and gives me the name of half a dozen medications that could provoke such urgent need.
We get out in the Sun looking for a bathroom too. I had to go.

Toledo (Spain IV)

2005-09-27T21:42:00.000-04:00

We spent one full day exploring Toledo, a beautiful but very touristy town. The cathedral is mentioned on all the guides so in we went, shelling 8 Euros to enter the imposing structure.
If there was a concept of "kitsch" in the 13th century, this would be it. Everything is overdone, from the wall decoration to the chairs. Sober is not a word that would be included in the dictionary of the builders of this place. I got bored very quickly and make my way to the gallery that my guide recommended.

My mother is too tired to follow me and I explore the rooms by myself. I can't believe what I see. At the difference of the rest of the cathedral, the gallery seems almost neglected. Cramped and dimly lit, the walls are covered by paintings that are hard to see in their full glory. Each one of these paintings would make the joy of a museum but here, they seem forgotten and dismissed. A painting by El Greco is simply put on the mantelpiece, leaning against the wall without any visible support. I can get as close as I like from the frame and the canvas. A Carravagio is hanged too high to get a good look at it. I can't find the Goya advertised in the guide. Some paintings are hung one over another to use all the wall space possible. I'm dismayed by the lack of care for these paintings. When I will tell of the experience to friends, they'll assure me that the paintings are probably fakes put there for display. I hope that's the case because otherwise, whoever is in charge is guilty of unbelievable neglect toward these masterpieces. The thought occurs to me that a thief would be entitled to steal them if only to ensure that they are kept properly.

Road rage (Spain III)

2005-09-27T21:10:00.000-04:00

The streets here (San Lorenzio de El Escorial) are narrow and don't allow for more than one (small) car to go through. This, apparently, was of no concern for a driver who parked right in the middle of the street. Yes. An empty car in front of a traffic light at the end of a steeply inclined street and no trace of the driver. What was most infuriating was that there was a small space on the left of the street and just backing the car by half a meter would have allowed traffic to move freely.
So here I am, stuck behind an empty car so I do what anyone would have done: I honk and honk and honk, tapping on the steering wheel with some kind of rhythm to add some urgency to the noisy message.
A woman soon comes running but to my amazement, she does not enter her car but just tells me in Spanish that she will be back very shortly. I plead in English for her to move her car just 50 centimeters as she is right next to her car but she just keeps telling me that she will come back shortly. She must have spent more time pleading to come back than she would have just backing her car. I just can't believe my ears and start insulting her in English thinking at the same time that she'll probably think that I am an American.
Some people are watching the exchange, one man comes up in front of my car to check that indeed I can't go through without her moving the car. He seems satisfied that it is indeed not my fault if the "traffic" (there is only one other car behind mine) is backed up. An old couple is standing at the intersection and the man is shaking his head. I wonder who they are rooting for: the local woman or the foreigner swearing in English with a French accent.

Past and present (Spain II)

2005-09-26T18:21:00.000-04:00

Avila of Saint Teresa's fame. Her parents were Jews converted during the Spanish Inquisition. There is now a church built on her birth place and it serves as a small museum. I'm surprised at the lack of "touristy" things around. Maybe it is just not the season but there is almost no one. The small church is rather quiet and dark, the air filled with heavy incense smell. Still, it is a sober place, at odd with all the other churches that I am used to see. A nice place.
I hear my mother muttered with a tone expressing something like admiration "Not bad for a little Jewish girl!"

Avila is also the town where Torquemada, of Inquisition fame, is buried. When I suggest to my mother to go see his burial place, she refused with a sharp "Why should I go visit this man?" I am startled to realize that for her, the Inquisition is not long gone history, it is the event that forced her family out of Spain. It is the event which explains why her parents spoke only Spanish, an heritage of exile and lost dignity. It is hard to believe that we are still so closely related to events that occurred more than five centuries ago.

Scenes from Spain (I)

2005-09-26T18:11:00.000-04:00

It could have been plucked out from "Les vacances de Mr Hulot" a delightful French movie by Jacques Tati (if you have not seen it, rent it or "Mon oncle". You can't go wrong).

We're waiting for our bags in Madrid airport. I'm traveling with my mother to the country of her ancestors. All the people from our plane are there, in front of the baggage belt, waiting. Luggages start arriving but nobody grab any bags. Some people bend and check and then let go of the black or red bag. The scene is surreal. A large group of people, looking intensely to that belt, scrutinizing every bag that comes around and nothing happening. The belt becomes more and more crowded with luggage of all sizes. One small suitcase falls on the other side, stuck there, inaccessible to anybody without crossing the moving belt.

Then after 10 mn we hear an announcement in Spanish. I can understand most of it but my mother translates it nevertheless. The bags for our flight are to be delivered on belt 5, not belt number 7. We were looking at luggages belonging to people on another plan.
I wonder where they are. Maybe stuck in front of belt number 7, wondering why nobody is claiming any bags.

You're too late

2005-09-19T22:16:00.000-04:00

There was a murder on my street. A man walking his dog got shot about one block of where I live. It happened on Saturday night and since then I live in the safest street in DC.
We have about 10 police cars parked in the street, several giant flood lights and a truck equipped with cameras. I asked one of the policeman. "So why are doing this?". He looked surprised "To prevent any crimes. Criminals won't attack with that much light around". Maybe I am missing some important information in crime enforcement but it seems that the best use of 10 police cars is not in the street after a crime has been committed. I will fell much safer with these police cars going around in the complete neighborhood, not just parked in my street. The murderer is not going to come back to see how everyone is doing. He's gone. Somewhere in the city. Walking some other streets where there will be soon 10 police cars stationed and giant flood lights.
Always fighting the last war...